Shrouded in Mystery
by Deana
Summary: When Athos joins the musketeers, he refuses to tell anyone about himself, and Aramis makes it his mission to figure Athos out. (My Fete des Mousquetaires entry for June!)
1. Mysterious Recruit

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 **Shrouded in Mystery**  
A Musketeers story by Deana  
This is my Fete des Mousquetaires entry for June!

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Aramis winced as he headed up the stairs to Captain Treville's office. He'd been ill for the past week and the pain in his throat was slow to fade. He knocked before opening the door, and he was surprised to see a stranger sitting in the chair across from the captain.

"Aramis," said Treville. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I feel better today," Aramis answered, walking inside.

"You don't sound it," said Treville.

Aramis cleared his throat. His voice had come out scratchier than he'd hoped. "I'm fine."

Treville nodded, indicating the man in the chair. "This is Athos; he joined this morning."

Aramis smiled. "Pleased to meet you," he said, holding out a hand.

"Likewise," Athos said, shaking it.

"I've already seen a demonstration of his swordplay," said Treville. "He beat everyone who fought him."

Aramis' eyebrows went up. "Really?" He looked at Athos. "You won't need much in the way of training then."

Athos said nothing, simply nodding.

"You can head down to the yard, Athos," said Treville. "I'd like to speak to Aramis alone for a moment. He'll be down shortly."

Athos stood, gave them a nod, and left.

Aramis waited until the door closed before speaking. "He doesn't say much."

Treville shook his head. "No, he doesn't. He answered my questions, but offered nothing else. All I know about him is his name, that he's five years older than you, and that he's an excellent swordsman."

"You don't think he might be an escaped criminal or a murderer or something, do you?" Aramis asked.

Treville shook his head. "No. He speaks like a noble and has the bearing of one…he must be one of the lesser sons who didn't inherit, and so left his family's estate."

Aramis nodded; many musketeers had the same background. "Well, if _anyone_ can get anything else out of him, it's me!"

Treville nodded. "I have no doubt. Just take it easy today; I can see that you're not fully recovered yet."

Aramis smiled and headed for the door. "I'm fine!" He walked out and closed it, chuckling when he heard Treville exclaim, "I've heard _that_ before!"

At the bottom of the stairs, he found Athos sitting at the table, polishing his sword. He sat on the edge of the table and watched.

Athos didn't even glance at him. "Yes?"

"That looks like a good sword," Aramis said.

"It is," Athos answered.

Aramis waited, but he said nothing else. "Where are you from?"

"France."

Aramis smiled. "Obviously, but _where_ in France?"

Athos continued to clean his sword. "That is no one's business but my own."

Aramis blinked, surprised at his rudeness. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"You've succeeded," said Athos. "But _I_ am _not_ friendly."

"I can see that," said Aramis. "Forgive me for bothering you." With that, he stood up and walked away.

"Aramis!" he heard.

Looking up, he found Porthos walking over to him.

"You feelin' better?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded, though his throat was still sore.

"Who's that?" Porthos asked, gesturing to the table.

"Our newest member," Aramis said. He coughed a little and rubbed his throat. "He isn't very nice…in fact, he's not nice at all."

Porthos' eyebrows shot up. "You mean you didn't succeed in makin' him your friend yet? One minute is usually all the time you need!"

"I know," Aramis answered. "I can't understand it."

"What do you know about him?"

"Only that his name is Athos, he's five years older than me, and he's good with a sword. I think he's from a noble family, but he wouldn't tell me where he's from."

"Mysterious," Porthos remarked.

"He appears to be shrouded in mystery," Aramis agreed. "Well it's a mystery that I intend to _solve_!"

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Lunchtime came quickly, and Aramis headed right over to the table where Athos was still sitting. He placed his plate down across from Athos and gave him a bright smile.

Athos looked like he couldn't believe that Aramis had the nerve to come back.

Porthos approached with his plate of food a few seconds later and sat beside Aramis.

"This is our table," Aramis said.

Without a word, Athos started to stand up.

"Nono," Aramis said, holding out a hand to stop him. "I didn't mean that you couldn't sit here! I'm explaining why I came back after you made it clear that you weren't interested in speaking with me." He coughed afterwards, trying to suppress it.

Porthos hid his smirk, knowing that Aramis was purposely making it sound like he was insulted, to see if he got a reaction.

Athos continued to polish his sword, even though it shined like the sun. "I don't socialize."

"A response!" Aramis joked. "That's a good sign!"

Porthos had to hide another smirk.

Athos grew annoyed and finally looked at them. "What exactly do you want from me?"

Aramis blinked. "I'd like to know the person who I'll be fighting beside…to know who it is that I'll be placing my trust in."

Athos hesitated at that.

"And I," said Porthos. "Want to have more than _one_ friend here."

Athos frowned at his odd statement, before he realized why.

Porthos nodded. "Yeah, it takes most people a while to see past the color of my skin." He risked holding out his hand. "Porthos, by the way."

Athos couldn't ignore the hand, so he shook it. "Athos."

"Yeah, Aramis told me," Porthos said, before shooting a sympathetic glance at Aramis when he continued to cough. "So what made you join the musketeers, Athos?"

Athos wasn't sure how to react now that _both_ of them were trying to make him talk; especially since they had good reason. "I…" he hesitated.

"Here you go, Aramis!" they suddenly heard.

Everyone turned to see old Serge limping over with a mug. "Some tea for your throat!"

Aramis smiled before coughing again. "Thank you," he croaked.

Serge placed it down in front of him before looking at Athos. "A new recruit!" he exclaimed. "What's your name, son?"

Athos frowned at being called a lowly recruit. "I am Athos."

"I'm Serge," said the cook. "I make all the food! Is there anythin' that you can't eat?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Athos replied.

"Any foods that give you a bad reaction," Serge explained.

Athos looked bewildered. "No?"

Serge nodded. "Good, that'll make my life easier. Don't give that one _anythin'_ that contains lemongrass, no matter _what_ you do!" he said, gesturing towards Aramis.

Aramis made a face as he drank his tea. "Yes, please don't."

"And why is that?" Athos asked, curiosity overruling his desire for them to stop talking to him.

"He can't breathe if he eats it," Porthos told him.

Athos' eyebrows went up, despite himself.

Aramis nodded. "We aren't jesting; exposure to lemongrass could kill me."*

Athos slowly nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Aramis looked relieved. "Thank you." He coughed again and drank more of his tea.

"Did you need the _other_ tea?" Serge asked him.

Aramis shook his head. "The problem is my throat, not my lungs."ˆ

"You better not be lyin'," Serge sternly said.

"I swear," Aramis said.

Athos watched the conversation with puzzlement.

Serge looked like he wasn't sure if he should believe him. "It's lunchtime ya know," he said to Athos. "I'll go get you a plate; you'll love my beef stew!"

Athos wasn't very hungry, but he didn't want to be more impolite than he'd already been. "Thank you."

Serge smiled and limped away.

Athos looked at the cup of tea that Aramis was drinking. "Something else that I should know?"

Aramis shrugged. "Sometimes my lungs act up. A special root makes it easier for me to breathe when it's boiled into tea."*

Athos shook his head. "A musketeer who has difficulty breathing? How on earth can you fight?"

"It was a childhood problem," Aramis answered. "I'm fine now unless an illness affects my lungs."

Athos looked skeptical.

"See why it's important to get to know each other?" Aramis said with a smile. "Suppose you gave me a tart that was flavored with lemongrass, because we never spoke so I never told you that I can't eat it?"

Porthos nodded as he ate.

Instead of Athos saying, 'you're right', he answered, "Why would I give you a tart?"

Porthos guffawed.

Aramis chuckled, shaking his head.

"Especially if Serge knows not to use lemongrass," Athos continued.

"Touche," said Aramis. "Yet there's still a chance that we stop at a bakery and you decide to get some tarts for your friends and oh, sorry, this one can kill you Aramis, but eat it, it tastes wonderful!"

Porthos shook his head. "Not funny!"

Athos had to agree. "You shouldn't take it so lightly," he said, surprised at Aramis' flippant attitude.

Aramis shrugged as he drank the rest of his tea. "I don't…I'm just trying to relieve the tension of such a difficult subject."

Athos realized that it was a nervous conversation for Aramis, and he didn't blame him.

"So," said Porthos. "Have we made you comfortable enough to tell us about yourself, now?"

Athos looked down at his sword again.

Serge suddenly came back with a plate and fork, which he placed in front of Athos. "Here you are, son!"

"Thank you," Athos said.

Serge smiled and remained where he was.

Athos realized that the cook was waiting for him to taste it, so he did. His eyebrows went up slightly at the taste. "It's delicious."

Serge nodded and taped his shoulder. "Told ya you'd like it!" With that he walked off.

Athos continued to eat, hoping that the others wouldn't continue to press him for details.

When Aramis and Porthos saw that he wasn't going to answer, they continued to eat themselves.

Treville came down soon after with another recruit, and Aramis stood, knowing what was expected of him.

Athos watched as Aramis unsheathed his sword and headed over.

"He's the captain's right-hand-man," Porthos told him. "The best swordsman and the best marksman. He's also been a musketeer the longest."

Athos said nothing, and simply watched as Aramis and the recruit started to fight.

The recruit held his own as Aramis put him through the paces to gauge his level of skill, but the exertion was making Aramis cough.

Treville knew that it might be dangerous for him to continue. "Stop!" he called.

Aramis and the recruit halted.

"You're not well enough yet, Aramis," said Treville. He looked towards the table. "Athos, come here."

Athos was surprised, and stood, bringing his sword. When he and Aramis passed each other, Aramis gave him a pat on the arm.

Athos stopped walking and looked at his arm, as if to say, 'what was that?'

"Aramis was ill," said Treville. "He obviously still is. I'd like you to fight Pierre instead."

Athos nodded and walked across from the recruit and got into position.

Aramis and Porthos watched as Athos fought the man.

"The captain was right…about his skill," said Aramis, still coughing.

"Shush," said Porthos. "Save your breath."

Athos fought well, going easy on the recruit to discover his style, strengths, and weaknesses. He eventually disarmed him and walked back to Treville. "He puts too much weight on the wrong leg," he said. "He leans his upper body back too far and holds his sword-arm too stiff. He will improve if those issues are addressed."

Treville nodded, impressed. "I agree. Thank you."

Athos nodded and passed him. He headed in a direction away from the table but looked towards Aramis and Porthos to see them smiling, so with a sigh, he changed his course.

"The captain is right about your skill," Aramis said to him before coughing again.

"Thank you," was Athos' only reply.

The next day, Athos desperately hoped that Treville had duties that would separate him from Aramis. He simply didn't have the mental stamina to deal with the happy and talkative man, especially after the dream that he'd had the night before.

His brother had been in it.

Athos sighed as he headed into the courtyard for morning muster. One look at Aramis, and he realized that the young musketeer painfully reminded him of Thomas, who'd had the same sunny personality.

Aramis was coughing again as they stood in line, though he was obviously trying to suppress it.

Treville took attendance before saying, "Aramis, Porthos, and Athos; you have marketplace patrol duty today."

Athos nearly groaned. He had to walk around with them for hours?!

Aramis and Porthos nodded, before heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

Athos just stood there for a moment, hesitating.

"Something wrong, Athos?" Treville asked.

"No sir," he answered, before following the others to the kitchen. When he walked in, someone suddenly grabbed his arm and Athos nearly drew his sword.

"Hurry, you don't want to miss Serge's sausages!"

Athos blinked as Aramis dragged him to the line of men waiting to be served. A plate was shoved into his hand and was soon filled with eggs, sausage, and a thick piece of fresh bread, hot from the oven. He was pulled again over to a table and practically pushed down to sit.

Porthos was already there, digging in. He waved at Athos with his fork as he chewed.

Aramis started eating without a word, so Athos ate too, glad that no one was talking.

Aramis coughed occasionally through the meal, and wasn't surprised when Serge came over with a mug.

"Are you any better today, Aramis?" he asked.

Aramis nodded. "Yes, thanks to your wonderful tea!"

Serge chuckled and patted his arm before heading away.

"Treville gave us easy duty," Porthos said to Athos.

Not sure how to respond, Athos nodded.

Aramis coughed again.

"And that's why," Porthos went on, gesturing to Aramis.

"How will walking around help him?" Athos dared to ask.

"Today is stable-mucking day," said Porthos. "Shoeing horses, and all that. Strollin' around at our own pace is much easier than _that_ is."

Athos saw his point.

"And you benefitted too," said Aramis, after drinking some of his tea. "Stable-mucking is usually the first thing a new musketeer does; to gain discipline. But since you're with us, you got the easier job too."

"With you?" Athos said, a sinking feeling starting to build in his stomach. "Have the three of us been made a team?"

"The captain saw how brilliantly we were getting along yesterday," Aramis said. "So he paired us at least for the time being."

Athos' heart started beating faster. "So I'll be with you every day?"

Aramis looked up from his food, with a hurt expression. "That displeases you?"

Athos hesitated before looking at Porthos, who looked defeated himself, assuming that it was because of his skin color. "Of course not," he found himself replying. "I'm…glad to remain with people who I'm acquainted with." It was one of the hardest lies he'd ever told.

Aramis' face lit up, and Porthos smiled too. "Wonderful!" Aramis said. "The three of us will become inseparable, I'm sure!"

Athos' slight smile was very, _very_ forced.

After breakfast, they headed out of the garrison and strolled through the marketplace.

Athos noticed that Aramis had a hand on his pistol. "Does trouble strike often?" he asked.

Aramis shrugged with one shoulder. "Sometimes. A boring fortnight can pass with nothing, or there could be a robbery every day for a week."

"Boring?" Athos echoed.

"Aramis likes to shoot people," Porthos said from his left, before chuckling.

With a start, Athos realized that they'd boxed him in.

"I do not!" Aramis said from Athos' right. "I _hate_ to kill people, which is why I practiced so hard to become as good a marksman as I am. That way, I know that I won't kill someone by _accident._ Wherever I aim is exactly where I'll hit a man."

Athos was inwardly amazed by that, though he wouldn't show it.

"One of our Lord's commandments is 'Thou Shalt Not Kill', so I ensure that whenever I'm forced to, it's in defense of someone else's life."

 _Someone else's?_ "You _do_ include yourself in that statement, I trust?"

Aramis smiled. "Oh! Is that a note of concern in your voice?"

"Of course not," said Athos. "I was just curious, that's all."

Porthos roared with laughter.

Aramis chuckled and put an arm around each of them. "Oh Athos, I don't know what it is that you came to Paris to escape, but Porthos and I are just what you need in your life."

The insight into his past startled Athos, but before he could react, mayhem abruptly broke loose.

"I want my money back!" a man shouted, before suddenly grabbing a woman and jabbing a pistol into her side. "I'll kill her!"

The woman's husband exclaimed, "Anne!"

Athos stopped walking. _Anne…_

"Unhand that woman!" Aramis shouted, pointing his pistol.

 _Anne…_

"No!" the man exclaimed.

 _Anne…_

All sound seemed to cease, and all that Athos could hear in his mind was that name…Anne…Anne…Anne…

 _Dark hair, white dress…flowers…Anne…_

Athos was brought out of his trance when someone violently pushed him. He landed on the ground as two gunshots sounded, and he looked around as people started to scream and run.

"Are you all right?"

Athos blinked at Aramis, who had apparently been the one to knock him down. "I'm fine."

"Good," said Aramis, pushing himself up to sit. He grimaced and wrapped an arm around his ribs.

Athos saw blood. "Are you hit?" he asked with shock.

Aramis nodded. "Of course I am; he _fired_ at you." With that, he bonelessly slumped towards Athos.

Athos caught him, shocked speechless.

Porthos had handed the shooter into the hands of two Red Guards and hurried back when he saw Aramis and Athos on the ground. "He's shot?!"

"Yes," said Athos, still in shock.

Porthos pulled Aramis off the ground and quickly ran back towards the garrison, carrying him as if he weighed nothing.

Athos stood and quickly followed, as each drop of blood fell from Aramis to stain the ground…

TBC

'Hidden Danger': story ID 12152923 and 'No Safe Place to Breathe': story ID 12508485


	2. Mystery Solved

Once they reached the garrison, Porthos bellowed for Captain Treville, who quickly came out of his office and rushed down the stairs.

Treville was shocked at the sight of Porthos carrying the bloodied Aramis. "What happened?!" he exclaimed.

"He's been shot! Get a doctor!" Porthos answered, before rushing past him to get to the infirmary.

Treville sent the nearest man and followed Porthos.

Athos followed more slowly, saying nothing and quietly watching as Porthos laid Aramis on a bed and started removing his weapons belts and jacket.

The injured musketeer was completely unconscious, not moving or making a sound. When the wound was revealed, they found it to be very far to his left side.

"He can survive this," said Treville.

Porthos gave a huge sigh of relief as he covered the wound with a cloth and put pressure on it. "Thank God!"

Treville turned around to tell Athos, but he was gone. "How did this happen?" he asked Porthos.

"Aramis took the bullet for Athos," Porthos explained.

Treville sighed again, before leaving the infirmary. He headed to Athos' room and found exactly what he expected. "You're leaving?"

"I must," said Athos, as he stuffed his belongings into a sack. "I am not fit to be a musketeer."

"And why is that?" Treville asked, walking into the room.

"The blame is mine, for Aramis being shot."

"Did _you_ shoot him?"

Athos stopped and looked at him. "Of course not."

"Did you push him into the path of the bullet?" Treville asked.

"No."

"Did you hide behind Aramis so it would hit him instead of you?"

"No!"

"Then explain," said Treville. "Because so far, I don't accept your resignation and you'll be considered a deserter if you leave."

Athos tossed his sack onto the bed and closed his eyes when Anne's face flashed through his mind. "I…can't tell you."

"You'd _better_ tell me," said Treville, stepping in front of him. "Aramis is my best man, and while he's no stranger to being shot, I'd like to know why this happened. What did you do, that makes you so eager to take the blame?"

Athos looked away. "It's what I _didn't_ do."

Treville waited, but Athos didn't continue. "And _that_ is?"

"A man in the marketplace took a woman hostage," Athos finally said. "And she…looked like someone I…knew."

 _Knew._ Some of Treville's anger dissipated. "So you froze."

Athos gave no answer.

Treville sighed and put a hand on Athos' shoulder. "While I would advise you never to do that again, it _does_ happen. It happened to me once and the outcome was similar." He sighed.

"Then you understand why I have to go," Athos said, picking up his sack.

"No!" Treville replied. " _You_ need to understand why you have to _stay._ When Aramis wakes up, do you want us to tell him that you simply walked out without even a by-your-leave? You would have Aramis' sacrifice be in vain? He offered _his_ life for _yours_!"

"I would've had him not _make_ such a sacrifice!" Athos exclaimed. "I am not worth it!"

"Aramis was the one to decide if you were worth it or not," said Treville. "And he decided that you _are_. Don't desert him after what he did for you."

Athos lowered his head, before tossing the sack back onto the bed.

Treville nodded and patted his arm. "I'll send for you after the doctor leaves. Please, for Aramis' sake, don't go. Do I have your word?"

"Yes," said Athos.

Treville nodded and hurried out, quickly heading back to the infirmary. The doctor had arrived during his absence, and was bent over Aramis with a long pair of tweezers.

Porthos was on the other side of the bed, literally sitting on Aramis' legs and holding his arms down to the bed, lest he wake and become combative.

Aramis was out cold, but when the doctor inserted the tweezers into the wound, he suddenly came to life with a cry of pain.

Porthos used more force, succeeding in keeping Aramis from moving. "Hey! Stop! It's the doctor! You're gonna be fine!"

Aramis gave another cry of pain.

Treville rushed over and sat on the bed, putting a hand on Aramis' head and gripping his shoulder. "Be still, it'll be over in a moment!"

Aramis clenched his eyes shut, panting from the intense pain.

The doctor suddenly made a pleased sound and held up the bullet for them to see, before tossing it onto the nightstand. "Brace yourself," he told Aramis, before picking up a bottle of brandy and pouring it onto the wound.

Aramis gave a louder cry of utter agony, as the alcohol seemingly burned his entire midsection from the inside out.

The doctor picked up a threaded needle. "Keep him still," he said, before beginning to stitch.

Treville smoothed Aramis' hair off his forehead, wishing that he could take the pain onto himself. Aramis had been his first musketeer, and held a special place in his heart.

Aramis, to his credit, tried to slow down his breathing, but wasn't succeeding. "Athos?" he suddenly whispered, wondering if he'd been wounded also.

"He's fine," said Treville. _And he'd better still be in this garrison!_ he thought.

The stitching didn't take too long, and the doctor poured brandy over the wound again. The new burning agony was Aramis' undoing, and he passed out.

Treville and Porthos let go of their injured friend, sighing with relief that Aramis would have a respite from the pain.

"Where is Athos?" Porthos asked once the doctor was gone. He sounded angry.

"He was packing," said Treville, as he wiped sweat off Aramis' forehead and face.

"Packing?"

Treville told him the story. "Athos has something terrible in his past that he isn't able to speak about. I suspect it is recent."

Porthos nodded. "Aramis said that Athos is a mystery that he intends to solve."

"If anyone can solve it, it's Aramis," said Treville. He stood and headed for the door. "I told Athos that I would fetch him. I know that you're angry—I am too—but give him a chance, for Aramis' sake."

Porthos sighed, but nodded. "I'll try."

To Treville's relief, Athos was sitting on the side of his bed when he returned.

"How is he?" Athos asked.

"Holding his own," said Treville. "He briefly woke when—"

"I heard him," said Athos, sounding disturbed. He stood and followed Treville out, back to the infirmary where they headed over to the bed and looked down at Aramis.

Porthos said nothing, though Treville noticed that his fists were clenched, as if he was stopping himself from punching him.

"What did the doctor say?" Athos asked.

"The bullet missed his organs," Treville told him. "Aramis should be fine as long as the wound doesn't grow infected."

Athos nodded. "I will help to care for him, it's the least I can do." He then crossed to Porthos and bowed his head. "I apologize profusely for being the cause of your friend's wound. I will make amends in any way that I can."

Porthos had never been bowed to, and couldn't hide his surprise. Not sure what to say, he simply nodded.

Athos nodded back and fetched a chair, which he placed beside the bed before sitting down.

When Aramis later woke, the first thing he said was, "Athos."

Athos leaned forward. "I am here."

It was a few seconds before Aramis could focus on his face. "You're…all right." His voice was soft and weak.

Athos nodded. "Yes. Thank you for saving my life, though I wish that you hadn't."

Aramis blinked, trying to make sense of his words. "You want…to die?"

Athos inwardly sighed. "I meant that I did not want you hurt on my account."

"Oh," Aramis said, closing his eyes. He coughed a little with a wince, reminding them that he'd been ill before he'd even been shot.

Treville quickly poured him a glass of water and helped him drink it.

Aramis passed out again afterwards, and the three men were left to silently watch him.

The next couple of days passed in a blur. Aramis was in and out of consciousness for much of it, which didn't surprise them after the amount of blood that he'd lost. It was the third day when he became more alert, and he opened his eyes to see that Athos was sitting beside the bed with his own eyes closed and a hand over them.

"Did you miss me that much?" he quipped.

Athos quickly moved his hand and looked at him.

Aramis shifted slightly, with a gasp and a wince. "What…happened to you…Athos?" he asked.

Athos reached over and put a hand on his arm to keep him still. "Nothing happened to me," he said. " _You're_ the one who was shot." He felt Aramis' forehead to check for fever, and was relieved to find none.

"I know _that_ ," Aramis said, still wincing. It was a minute before he was able to speak again as he dealt with the pain. "I meant _before_."

Athos didn't answer.

"Have I offended you?" Aramis asked.

"No," Athos answered. He reached over for a glass of water and held it to Aramis' lips.

Aramis drank every drop, before letting his breath out with a sigh. "There's something…about me," he said, eyes drifting closed. "I see it…in your eyes…when you look at me."

Athos was silent again, but he knew that he owed Aramis an explanation, especially since he took a bullet for him. "I had a younger brother," he said. "You remind me of him."

Aramis' eyes reopened. _Had?_

"And…" Athos stopped, nearly unable to say it.

"And?"

Athos closed his eyes for a moment. "There was a woman. She died."

And so, the mystery was solved. Aramis understood Athos' attitude now; he'd buried his brother and his lover. "I'm so sorry."

Athos nodded.

Aramis wondered about the rest of Athos' family. Did his parents live? He chose not to ask, not wanting Athos to feel even worse if he was the only one left. "You have a family here," Aramis said. "With the musketeers."

"I don't doubt it," Athos said. "After seeing what you did."

Aramis grinned, though he looked too pale and sickly. "What, this?" he said, gesturing towards his wound. "It was nothing."

Athos saw through the fake nonchalance, and one side of his mouth lifted.

Aramis gasped. "Is that a smile?!"

Athos mouth went back into a line. "No." His voice sounded slightly humored.

Aramis chuckled, before wincing again. "Don't make me laugh!"

"I would never dream of it," Athos replied.

That line made Aramis laugh again.

Aramis remained bedridden for a week before the doctor let him get up. He was glad to not be stuck flat anymore, but he was weak and the location of the wound made it difficult to sit upright long, so he couldn't stay out of bed as much as he wanted. His recovery took longer than he liked, but he was eventually on light-duty again and the day came that they found themselves back patrolling the marketplace.

"You sure that you're up to this?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded as they slowly walked. It was partly a lie; he still felt weak and his side was hurting, but it was a lovely day that he didn't want to waste in bed.

"You're lying," Athos commented.

Aramis looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are easy to read," said Athos. "You haven't fully regained your strength even though you pretend that you have, and there are pain lines in your face."

"That's _you_ told-off!" Porthos chuckled.

Aramis smiled slightly, though he sighed at the same time. "I cannot just sit in the garrison until I am completely whole," he answered. "Exercise helps to build strength," he said. "And strolling through the marketplace is the perfect way to do that."

"Unless you get shot again," Athos said.

Aramis put a hand over his heart. "Athos, my dear friend, are you worried for me? I am honored!"

Athos had come out of his shell somewhat since Aramis had saved his life, and he shot him a glare. "I simply don't want to get more blood on my clothing."

Aramis grinned. "I'll try not to ever bleed on you again!"

Porthos shook his head. "Not very funny."

Aramis put an arm around each one of them, wincing with his left arm and lifting it more gingerly as it pulled on the healing wound in his side. "I highly doubt that anyone will shoot at me today; stop worrying."

"MUSKETEERS!"

All three of them looked up, just as a crazed man ahead of them pointed his gun.

"I'll kill you all for what you did to my brother!" he exclaimed. "He was executed because of you!"

Aramis had no time to react before a gunshot sounded and he was sent crashing to the ground. Horrible pain filled him and he gasped, unable to inhale.

"Don't move!" a voice exclaimed, before he was dragged behind a merchant's cart.

Aramis couldn't move even if he tried; he was in utter agony. He laid there with his eyes clenched shut in pain, knowing that he was safe, as the protective hand clutching his shoulder told him.

Gunfire erupted around him, and when it stopped, Aramis tried to move.

"Keep still." It was Athos.

Aramis managed to open his eyes, seeing the other musketeer kneeling on the ground beside him, his hands stained red. "I got blood on you again," he weakly said.

Athos shook his head. "No, this blood is my own."

With shock, Aramis realized that he hadn't been shot; the horrible pain filling him was from hitting the ground on his wounded side, not from a fresh wound. "What?!" he exclaimed, trying to sit up.

Porthos reached him just then, kneeling to help. He grabbed Aramis and held him down.

"Athos is bleeding!" Aramis told him.

"It is nothing," Athos told them, wiping his hands on his pants. "Just a graze."

Porthos helped Aramis sit up, and they checked Athos' wound; which was nearly in the same place as Aramis'. The bullet had been further to the side and truly had only grazed him.

"You saved my life," said Aramis.

Porthos laughed. "That makes the two of you even!"

Athos nodded. "It does indeed." He started to rise and Porthos reached out to help him, but he didn't really need it. Once upright, they both reached down to pull Aramis to his feet.

Aramis remained hunched over, with his right hand over his throbbing side. He tried not to groan but didn't fully succeed.

"I had no time to give you an easier landing," said Athos.

Aramis smiled through his wince and shook his head. "I completely understand."

Porthos put a supportive arm around him. "Let's go back to the garrison; you both need attention."

"I do not think that Treville will approve," said Athos, as they slowly made their way back.

Aramis painfully chuckled. "The last time we were here and now today, one of us was shot. How ironic."

"We'll be fortunate if he still sees fit to pair the three of us together," said Athos.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a glance, wondering if Athos realized what he'd just said.

"Careful, Athos," Aramis replied. "You might accidentally make us think that you like us."

Athos made an indignant face. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Porthos' laugh filled the air from the marketplace all the way to the garrison.

THE END


End file.
